Clem got off his worn-out horse. The poor creature was near death after three days of running from his tracker who he suspected was a bounty hunter.

His crime, killing a man in self defense. No trial.

Took his saddle and warbag off his horse, turning him loose. In the horizon he saw a cloud of dust. A rider. Maybe an hour away. The blazing sun was merciless. He was out of water. Only one bullet left in his revolver.